


When Gansey Came to Town

by Mandi2341



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gansey tells Ronan about Glendower but make it drunk, M/M, Male Friendship, Pre-Adam Parrish, Pre-Canon, pre-raven boys, ronansey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24911197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandi2341/pseuds/Mandi2341
Summary: His eyes were hazel. They were hazel, and they were wide, and excited, and very drunk. “Will you? Will you help me, Ronan? Do you believe me? No one believes me. They listen. But they don’t believe me.”Ronan wasn’t sure how to respond. So he responded honestly. “I believe you.”
Relationships: Ashley/Declan Lynch, Richard Gansey III/Ronan Lynch
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	When Gansey Came to Town

Declan pulled the Volvo into his usual parking spot, precisely at 7:49 AM, eleven minutes before all students were to report to homeroom. Ronan smirked at his brother’s predictability. They would have been here at 7:45 if not for the school bus that, according to Declan, was two minutes early, and had set them back an infuriating  _ four _ minutes because, according to Declan, the kids at the local public school couldn’t be bothered to wake up on time for their bus. 

“You have a new student in your class, Ronan,” Declan said. 

Ronan tugged on the leather bands around his wrist. “Two questions,” he muttered. “One - who transfers in the middle of the school year, and two - how do you know there’s a new student in my class?”

“I do my research. You ought to do the same once in a while.” Declan killed the engine. “His name’s Gansey. Dick Gansey. The Third.”

“You’re fucking with me. Anyone tell him it’s not 1940 anymore?”

Declan let out a disgruntled sigh. “It’s a name, Ronan.”

“Yeah, a dumb one.” Ronan pushed open the car door and climbed out of the car before grabbing his backpack from the floor in front of the passenger seat. 

Declan called after him, “Fix your uniform!”

“No,” Ronan called back. He smirked again, imagining the irritation on his older brother’s face as he dared to enter the building with his shirt tail still untucked and his tie in an improper knot. On his way to homeroom he stuffed his tennis duffel bag into his locker and was stopped by at least two teachers - at least, he had stopped counting and caring after two - telling him to tuck in his shirt if he didn’t want detention. Ronan didn’t particularly  _ mind _ detention, but he didn’t like to spend extra time within the confines of this building if he could help it. 

He slammed his locker shut, because he slammed everything, startling the other ninth grader who’d been patiently waiting near the door for their homeroom to open up for the morning. Ronan couldn’t remember the kid’s name; everyone in the class seemed to blend together. All of them with the same perfectly coiffed and professional appearances that helped them blend in with the other coiffed young professionals. No wonder Declan seemed to fit in here so seamlessly. It almost disgusted Ronan. 

The line against the wall was growing longer, and some of the boys were beginning to fidget and tap feet restlessly. Ronan stole a peek into the classroom, and scowled. Another student was already inside, sitting on one of the desks. He seemed extremely engaged with whatever conversation he was having with Smyth, their teacher. 

Ronan pounded on the door. “Hey, Smyth, are you going to keep us out here all day?” Without looking in the direction of the boys waiting behind him, he could feel their nervous glances at him. He didn’t care. 

It took all of ten seconds for Smyth to open the door with a scowl of his own. “Lynch, welcome back,” he muttered sarcastically. 

The boy he’d been speaking with turned around and stood up from the desk. His backpack was already beside him, and a thick book with a lot of sticky notes was tucked under his arm. He was handsome, in the way one would expect the poster child for a GOP internship to be handsome. If Aglionby boys were perfectly coiffed young professionals, this boy was the most perfectly coiffed and most professional among them. 

“Mr. Gansey,” Smyth said, “we’ll finish this conversation after morning announcements.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, flashing a bright smile. 

Ronan shoved his hands into the pockets of his blazer. “So,” he mused. “ _ You’re _ Dick Gansey. The Third.”

The boy grimaced, which Ronan found amusing. He would grimace too, if his name were Dick Gansey The Third. “Just Gansey,” he corrected, with a lighthearted but strained smile that meant he insisted. 

Ronan took the seat beside him and propped his legs up on the desk, shrugging off his blazer. It had been a restless night of bad dreams, but thankfully nothing that could have killed him in his sleep. 

“Did you get your schedule yet?”

Ronan looked over. Gansey was looking back with curious green eyes. Or were they brown? “Huh?”

“Your schedule, for the semester.” He took a sheet of paper from his school bag. “Would you like to compare?”

Ronan had received a letter with his schedule in it. The last he’d seen of it, it was crumpled at the bottom of his backpack. With a sigh, he swung his legs down and rummaged for the piece of paper buried under his notebook. “Uh…” he muttered. “I have Latin first period.”

Gansey grinned, his green (brown?) eyes lighting up. “So do I. Well, at least I won’t go into a room full of strangers. We can walk together and you can help me find the room. I haven’t quite gotten all of the names of the buildings straight yet.”

Dick Gansey spoke like an old Virginian Congressman. That is to say, he spoke like someone named Dick Gansey. Except Ronan didn’t expect a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old to look or sound like a Dick Gansey. And yet, here one was. It amused Ronan. 

Keith Chamberlain smirked and nudged Gansey’s shoulder. “Don’t expect too much from Lynch, we’re surprised he even showed up today.”

“I don’t skip the  _ first _ day of class,” Ronan answered with a cool smile. “What kind of delinquent do you think I am, Chamberlain?” What Ronan didn’t admit was that he needed to attend school for at least half a day in order to attend tennis practice, and tennis was the one thing at this godforsaken school he cared about. Latin and tennis. Unfortunately, sandwiched in between those two things were seven hours of torture with a break at twelve for lunch. 

“Lynch.” Smyth tapped away at his computer without looking at Ronan. “Do I need to cite you for that hair? Do you need the name of a barber or something?”

The other boys chuckled. Ronan dramatically ran a hand through his curls. “You know, Whelk already gave me one, but thanks for the offer. I was thinking about growing it long enough for a ponytail, what do you think?” He pulled it back with one hand, and Gansey’s shoulders shook with the effort of trying not to laugh. “See, even Gansey thinks I’d look good, don’t ya, Gansey?”

Smyth rolled his eyes. “Mr. Gansey,” he sighed heavily, “I’d suggest you find classmates who are a little more  _ constructive _ with their time at Aglionby than Mr. Lynch is with his.”

Ronan winked. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ronan Lynch had a smile that said he was looking for trouble and happy to find it. As Gansey scanned the numbers of the above the doors, searching for the one that would lead them to their Latin class, other students seemed to move out of the way for him. Gansey was unsure of whether it was out of respect, or fear, or some combination of both. “You seem to have made a reputation for yourself,” he observed.

“Could say the same about you, new kid.” Ronan unwrapped a piece of gum and offered one to Gansey. When Gansey hesitated for more than a second Ronan replaced it in the box and returned the box to the pocket of his blazer. “Teacher’s pet, rule follower - you have got to be the most boring high schooler in the entire country. Is that why you transferred in the middle of the year? Your old high school too exciting for you?”

Gansey blinked. It was the first time anyone had called him  _ boring _ . Weird, eccentric, nerdy, but never  _ boring _ . He raised an eyebrow. “Well, Reykjavik certainly was interesting,” he mused. “But my parents preferred I stayed a little closer to home.”

Ronan smirked, turning a corner. He didn’t look back to make sure Gansey was still following, but he slowed down long enough for Gansey to catch up to him again. “Where the fuck is Reykjavic?”

“Iceland. The capital.”

“The fuck were you doing in Iceland?” He didn’t ask maliciously, despite his language. Gansey figured that Ronan Lynch was the kind of person who used the word  _ fuck _ in the same way others their age overused the word  _ like _ . Gansey opened his mouth to answer, but Ronan gently interrupted, “It’s this last door here.” He nodded to a room where some students were already seated, some still deciding on seats, and some making paper airplanes out of their schedules. 

Ronan slung his backpack off his shoulder and slid into a desk. Gansey sat beside him. “So, Iceland,” Ronan repeated, leaning back in his chair. “I’m guessing you’re not from there.”

“No,” Gansey admitted. “I was just doing some research.” He opened his mouth to say more, but decided against it. He wasn’t sure if Ronan Lynch would make fun of him for it, or if he would even care enough about Gansey’s journey to make fun of it. Gansey wasn’t sure if Ronan Lynch was a bad influence as Smyth had said, or if he was simply a misunderstood class clown. Gansey had been a new student so many times in so many states and countries that it had stopped feeling like a burden and started feeling more like part of the adventure. He knew what to say, how to act, how to read the room, and was slowly starting to cope with the crippling anxiety. Helen had suggested medication for it. The suggestion had made both Richard Gansey III and Richard Gansey II recoil. 

Ronan looked at him. There was amusement in his ice blue eyes. “What kind of research? Is that code for like, the Witness Protection Program or some shit?” 

“No, just history.” Gansey drummed his fingers on his desk for a few seconds before turning in his seat towards Ronan. “What do you know about Welsh kings?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys for reading! This is going to end up being a series of drabbles that take place before The Raven Boys, and probably before Adam. I may end up rearranging the order of the chapters in this series, or keep these events out of chronological order. What do you guys think? Leave your comments down below!


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